David Silva - The Disappeared

“What? He just showed up one day?”

“Something like that.”

“Oh, Teri.”

“Michael, he’s sitting right here. I’m looking at him. Don’t you think I’d know my own son when I saw him?”

“He hasn’t changed? Not at all?”

“No.”

“Did you ever stop to think that someone might be trying to con you?”

“Why? It’s not like I’m Leona Helmsley.”

“You own the house free and clear.”

“It’s him, Michael.” She leaned back against the headboard, feeling tired from having to defend a position that she knew was indefensible. Some things in life, though, you just had to accept for what they were. Without question. Without explanation. On faith. The boy crawled into her lap and leaned back against her chest, and she knew, as she had known from the very first, that this was one of those things. “All he wants is to talk to his father.”

“That’s why you called?”

“The one and only reason.”

“Did you tell him I’m poor as a dog?”

“No. You tell him.”

“I don’t want to talk to him, Teri.”

“Why? What are you afraid of? That maybe it’ll really be Gabe?”

“Of course not.”

“Then talk to him.”

“What am I supposed to say?”

“Whatever a father says to his son.”

“But he’s not… Christ, Teri. You aren’t going to drop this, are you?”

“No,” she said firmly. Though if it had been about her and Michael and only her and Michael, she probably wouldn’t have been as adamant. But this was about the boy. The boy and the man who was supposed to be his father. For that, she was even willing to turn a deaf ear to the voice inside her head that was saying, See? I told you he’d come home someday. I told you and you didn’t believe me and I was right. I was right, Michael.

“Talk to him, Michael.”

“All right. I’ll talk to him.”

Walt removed the handgun first.

It was a Ruger P-85 he had bought from one of the detectives down at the station. The frame was a lightweight aluminum alloy, matte black finish. He held it in his right hand, the trigger finger straight along the frame, the gun tilted to the side. He popped in the magazine. With the heel of his left hand, he slammed the magazine home, and retracted the slide to check the chamber. It was empty. He tucked the gun under his belt, against his back where he could feel it.

Next were the credit cards. There were five altogether: two Visa, two MasterCard, and one American Express. Each card had been issued under the name of a different cardholder. Further back was a stack of driver’s licenses. Walt removed the rubber band and thumbed through the phony I.D.s. Good enough to get him through this mess.

He pocketed the cards and I.D.s, closed the safe and weaved his way through the clutter of clothing and books and sheets on the floor. You still don’t know what the hell went on here, my friend. No, he didn’t. He could take a guess or two, though.

He was halfway down the hall on his way out when something else occurred to him. The files. He backtracked to the living room, where he had set up a small office area in one corner. It no longer resembled anything remotely like an office. The filing cabinet was lying on its side, one end braced against the footrest of a stool at the counter. All four drawers were open. One drawer was empty. The empty drawer was where he had always kept his case files.

On the floor, sticking out from beneath the corner of a yellow file folder, the message button on his phone was flashing. Walt, hoping Teri had called, flipped the folder off with the toe of his shoe, and pressed the play button.

“Things a little messy there, Travis?”

Richard Boyle.

It had to be.

“Missing a file or two, maybe? Listen, you quit snooping around in my life, you son of a bitch. I know more about you than you do about me, and I’ll make things fucking miserable for you if I have to. You understand, Travis? You better. You damn well better understand.”

Walt leaned back against the wall and swept a hand through his hair. Okay, so at least he knew who was responsible now. And he knew something else. He knew that what had happened hadn’t involved Teri or the boy.

But where the hell were they?

He kicked at a file folder on the floor and started back out of the apartment, running a possible scenario through his mind. They had come back from being out and had found the place ransacked. Teri would have assumed whoever had done it had been after her and the kid, so they wouldn’t have stayed around long, they would have left and…

…and what?

She would have tried to reach him. She would have called the motel and if he wasn’t there, she would have left a message for him. That was a place to start, at least. He might be able to talk someone down at the station into tracking any credit card uses as well. And there was always the outside chance that she might have returned home, even though he had warned her against it.

“But she won’t be back here,” he muttered to himself. He closed the door and locked it. It wasn’t likely Boyle would be back, either. Between him and whatever was going on with Teri, things were getting a little too crowded around here. He jiggled the doorknob to make sure it was locked, then picked up his suitcase and started toward the stairway.

Richard Boyle could wait.

The big question now was how Walt was going to reconnect with Teri.

Teri wrapped her arms around the boy, and he settled back into her fold while he talked to his father. It felt to her as if a lost breath had been found. She was whole again. Complete. Every breath he took went into her and out again, every heartbeat struck a chord. Absently, she combed the hair back from his forehead.

“Mom…” He pushed her hand away, a little boy’s impetuousness, then squirmed a bit and finally settled back into her fold.

“Nothing,” he said to Michael. “She’s just being a pain.”

“Don’t talk about your mother like that,” Teri said lightly.

“Well you are.”

She mussed his hair again, and yes, she supposed she was being a bit of a pain. But that was a mother’s prerogative, wasn’t it? Life didn’t offer so many opportune moments that you could afford to throw one away. And God, how nice it was to have him with her again. She did not want to lose another moment with him. Not one. Not ever.

“Mom.” The boy waved the receiver in the air. “He wants to talk to you again.”

More than half-an-hour had passed since she had put him on the phone with Michael. The maid, a woman who spoke almost no English, had come by and Teri had managed, through a hodgepodge of English, Spanish and arm waving, to convince the woman that it would be better if she came back later. Now it was getting close to check out time.

Teri cupped her hand over the receiver. “How fast can you take a bath?”

“Mom…”

“Go on.”

“I just took one.”

“When?”

He started to say something, and paused as they both realized it at the same time. He hadn’t taken a bath last night. Nor had he taken one at Walt’s the night before. And that left him with a horrible gap. When had he taken his last bath? Ten years ago?

“All right.”

He climbed off the bed, not in the least bit thrilled, and she gave him a playful swat on the behind before he disappeared into the bathroom.

She took her hand off the receiver. “Michael?”

“He really looks like Gabe, huh?”

“What do you think?”

“And you’re convinced? I mean really convinced? Not a doubt in your mind?”

“No, I can’t say that. But I am getting there.”